


Eternity

by lightningwaltz



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s spent so much time as a captive to the past that he doesn’t want to become imprisoned by the future.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Findarato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/gifts).



> This is basically just Souma and Shuusuke going at it hard after accidentally running into each other post-graduation. Merry Christmas, Cal.

Shuusuke should be accustomed to near-death experiences. He should be accustomed to the absence of Souma. When the two of them kiss, he’s fully aware that both things are falsehoods. 

His heart is like a fist ramming his ribcage, pushing his blood out and down, reminding him that he’s alive. He pushes his messiah in the same way, shoving at him until he’s up against the wall. Shuusuke’s also grabbing Souma’s wrists and pinning them down until their gloves whisper against the grit of brick and concrete. 

Souma smells like snow and gunpowder, but he also smells like whatever he used to shave that morning. He tastes like the juice he must have had with his breakfast. He sighs every time their lips part, and the sound makes Shuusuke shove his knee in between Souma’s legs. There’s a near-immediate grinding against his thigh, as though Souma has been waiting and praying for an anchor like this. 

Shuusuke kisses so hard he’s practically biting. When his lips sting he remembers he is a separate person, and not an entity created to experience Souma-related sensations. His gasps even out, while Souma’s hands pry themselves free and bury themselves in Shuusuke’s hair. 

“D’you have any idea how much I dreamed about you doing this to me?” This makes Shuusuke stare at Souma. “After that one really early mission?” 

No, he doesn’t know, but that’s because he doesn’t know much of anything right now. Shuusuke’s thoughts are no longer following a coherent pattern. Clasping onto something tangible is like trying to chase a kite in a hurricane. And Shuusuke is currently a propulsive force. A magnet that wants to attach itself to Souma’s lips again.

So he does just that. He shoves their mouths together, until Souma is nearly shaking. Shuusuke wants to bend his head, press his ear to his messiah’s throat, and hear the vibrations of suppressed-moans.

 _You won’t be able to hold those sounds back when I’m done with you._

But first he pulls back and makes himself proud. His voice sounds like nothing has happened. 

“I’m sorry, you will need to clarify. What did you dream about, and when?”

For some reason, Souma’s eyes momentarily slide close, and he licks his lower lip. “You’re so damn _calm_ ,” he says. Shuusuke remembers those Sakura meetings where they were able to sit side-by-side and have their lower bodies concealed by their shared desk. He remembers lightly stroking Souma’s thighs, all while keeping a blank face. Somehow, that latter detail effected Souma much more than anything Shuusuke’s fingers could do.

“I’m not calm.” He whispers this up against Souma’s ear, and he shoves his knee in harder. “Please believe that.” 

Souma’s breathing falters, but he manages to express himself. An explanation pours out of him, and Shuusuke struggles to identify words, and to follow how those words form sentences. How those sentences paint a picture of a memory. Yes, he can almost taste it now. They’d been trailing Amane Yasuchika. Shuusuke had had to push Souma against a wall to conceal them both. However, Shuusuke mostly recalls racing in front of a man he barely understood and didn't like, ready to die for him. That diminishes all the memories surrounding it.

“So, yeah, that moment haunted me I guess.” Souma laughs, and it’s surprisingly loud and unaffected by their activities. “I had lots of fun dreams about it.”

“Were you dreaming about it even when we didn’t get along?”

Souma shakes his head, but it doesn’t seem to be in denial. “It’s crazy, I know.”

Summoning the grim, early days has a sobering effect. If they hadn’t spoken at all, Shuusuke knows there’s a decent chance he might have fucked Souma right here, in this alleyway (inadvertently fulfilling a long-time fantasy, apparently.) However, there are so many reasons it’s a terrible idea. 

“They have me in a crappy motel room. You want to go there with me?” Souma prods Shuusuke in the shoulder a little. But then his hand lingers there, almost massaging Shuusuke’s upper arm.

 _Like I’d say no._ “I only have twelve hours until I’m scheduled to leave on a train,” Shuusuke says, and sudden guilt crushes him.

He’s seen this look on Souma’s face before. Usually when they’re heading into an encounter that could easily lead to death. That look vanishes along with the snow falling into Souma’s eyelashes.

“Hey, don’t look so sad. I know we’ll make it count.” Souma reaches out and cups Shuusuke’s face. Everything is so _soft_ , from his smile, to his touch, to the way he makes that promise. Yes, Shuusuke would follow him anywhere.

And he does. Out of the alley, and onto a crowded, grimy train. They hold hands all the while, and they grab and squeeze each other’s fingers until they almost hurt. There’s a ferocious promise in their grip. It doesn’t match how Shuusuke stares out the window, looking but not registering anything as rain-soaked alleyways, apartments and clouded night sky zoom past. Later, he won’t be able to recall the walk to the motel, either. The interiors are not very inspiring. The hallways have muddy lighting and faded wallpaper, but Shuusuke isn’t thinking so much as he is reacting. When Souma stops and pulls out his key card, relief stabs through Shuusuke. Arriving here took much less than an hour, but the time was too long all the same. 

Once inside, Shuusuke doesn’t spare the room a second glance. Everything in it pales with the experience of shoving Souma up against the door. His bones practically ache with the action, and that must be true for Souma too. He whispers his apologies against Souma’s lips, but his messiah just laughs, grabs Shuusuke’s ass, and pulls him in closer. 

“I’ve had worse lately,” Souma say, when their tongues are no longer occupied. “But Shuusuke… Come on, there’s a bed right there.” He leans his body weight in, clearly trying to maneuver Shuusuke away from the door. “Come on, Shuusuke.”

“So?” Shuusuke’s thumb fiddles with Souma’s zipper, listening to it click as it taps against his nails. He pulls it down, revealing skin that never used to be concealed. First he buries his head in that space. He breathes in Souma’s scent and sighs, until he’s a little intoxicated by it all. He scrapes his teeth along those collarbones, then digs in until it inspires a yelp (from Souma) and a moan (from Shuusuke.) “You’re not going any closer to it, I see.”

“ _Shuusuke_. That’s your fault.” Souma won’t be deterred. His hands find their way to Shuusuke’s hips, and he uses the strength in his thighs to push him back and back. “Seriously, there’s a very nice bed over there. Well, it’s serviceable. Better than where we are.” 

“You’re rambling.” Shuusuke could probably maneuver him back towards the door, away from the bed once more. They’d probably end up landing in a heap on the floor, and no one would win. That idea is appealing too, somehow. But he lingers on the wild light n Souma’s eyes, and before he knows it they’re both collapsed onto the bed.

Strangely, the kiss stops for several long minutes. They embrace, and Shuusuke burrows his head back into Souma’s chest. He feels those familiar, longed-for hands stroking up and down his back. The bed squeaks under them, and threads are unraveling from the comforter, and Shuusuke is pretty sure this is a smoking room. But this is a homecoming. 

He’s always belonged here. With this person.

“I could happily hold you like this for hours, too,” Souma muses. His voice is tight, and not from desire. “And only this.” 

_I’ve missed you, too. So much._

Shuusuke ponders saying it, but he decides to demonstrate it instead. He wraps his legs around Souma, then rolls him over, and earns an expression that is pure awe and reverence. Something in that inspires slowness, thoroughness. Even though he pins Souma’s hands again, his next kiss is the gentlest in this encounter. 

Souma makes a show of trying to squirm free, but it’s just that. A show. Clearly calculated to rock their pelvises together. 

“I guess you had other things in mind than hugging though.”

Shuusuke arches down against Souma, quite decisively. They’re both so hard already. “But so do you.”

“True, true.”

Getting Souma out of his clothes is also a sluggish process, though that has less to do with sentimentality and more to do with practical concerns. 

“What is this outfit of yours? _Why_ do you have so many zippers with no utilitarian value?” Undressing Souma, revealing him piece-by-piece... Normally that’s one of Shuusuke’s greatest pleasure. Now, though, he takes time to unzip everything he sees, and most of the time he’s not finding anything in particular. Not even an empty pocket.

“Oh come on. You got the right one when you were acting like a vampire up against the door.” Souma’s fingers idly gliding over his own collarbone and, yes, there’s a mark there. Bruising and a hint of blood below the skin. 

Shuusuke briefly folds his hand over Souma’s, before he tugs at the correct zipper. He parts the cloth, his palms sliding over naked skin, but Souma can’t get his top off until he sits up. Shuusuke allows this, and is unsurprised when Souma’s hands start grabbing at his hem. 

“Your turn,” Souma says, his voice hoarse. He pulls Shuusuke’s shirt up and off. “I need to see all of you _now_.”

“Do you really?” It had been like this before. A steady current of teasing and taunts, testing to see how long they could hold the conversation before other needs erased the ease of conversation. He stands on shaky feet, unbuckling his belt, wondering how to do this in the most concise manner possible. “You’d better do the same.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Souma is doing as promised. His pants come off, quickly followed by his underwear. It’s a bit ungainly, since he’s still half-sprawled on the bed. But the resulting sight invades Shuusuke’s senses, and dries out his mouth. His glasses are foggy, coated in perspiration. 

He might have continued to stare, had Souma not reached for both of his hands. That familiar pressure restores Shuusuke’s senses, retrieving him from the ebb and flow of desire. He shoves Souma back onto his back, slides over him, and leans in low to kiss him on his chin, and neck, and down over his chest. Their bare skin slides against each other, and Souma’s body warms every part of Shuusuke that is still cold. His abdomen is taut and his hips are hard and sharp, but everything about him seems to flow around Shuusuke, molding himself to the patterns of need. 

Suddenly, it looks like Souma is biting his own palm. Shuusuke blinks and stares, until he realizes Souma is trying to peel his own gloves away with his teeth. 

“Why are you doing that?” 

“So you’re comfortable,” Souma says. “Forgot they were still on.” 

The past moments have been a blur of kissing and sighing, touching, grabbing, and _holding_. Shuusuke has to isolate the memory of Souma’s hands on him and the pleasant sensation of gloves on his skin. He likes how they keep Souma from being completely naked. He likes the look of them when they’re gripping Shuusuke’s arms. 

“It’s fine,” he says, stopping his messiah with a pointed touch. He decides to pull Souma’s headband off and away, and he smiles as soft bangs cascade over his fingers. “It felt good.”

That seems to stop Souma in his tracks. But then he _smirks_ , and Shuusuke wonders how he could have forgotten that particular expression. It stirs all sorts of primal impulses in Shuusuke. He wants to run, just for the entertainment of being chased and caught.

He stays quite still, though (he’s already been caught.) Souma’s hand begins trails over Shuusuke’s chest and stomach, then down over his navel. Those fingers close over Shuusuke’s cock, and all the jagged, tense parts of him unravel. He looks down, and watches Souma’s gloved hand move up and down, in a rhythm that strikes him as excruciatingly slow. He should reciprocate, he knows, but he is fixated on how Souma is here, touching him, and that this is all a miracle in so many ways. 

He’s never very loud during sex- although maybe he’s comparing himself to Souma in this respect- but he makes his enjoyment known. He thrusts back against Souma’s hand, and grunts something. He’s not sure what, though it’s probably something like “go faster.” He regrets and loves it when that reaction draws a low, proud laugh from Souma. 

“Okay then, on your back.” 

Suddenly, Shuusuke is no longer being touched in that wonderful way. Just as suddenly, Shuusuke is being re-acquainted with Souma’s incredibly skilled mouth and tongue. They travel familiar territory, lower and lower, until this time its Souma’s lips that circle Shuusuke’s cock before sucking him into warmth and wetness. For a while Shuusuke just lays there, basking in it all, like man soaking in the rays of the sun. Lazing in the first spring day after months of winter. He listens as Souma moans near-words around his dick. He even tries to inhale as Souma slides up, and exhale as Souma slides down, but his gasps slice up every breath into pieces. 

But then Shuusuke has to look again, because there will be time and distance to daydream about this later. There will only been one chance to see it in the moment it occurs. He props himself up on his elbow and stares, biting the inside of his cheek until it’s ragged. Souma’s eyes are closed, and his messiah looks so blissful. Like he can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Shuusuke’s arms give way, and he sinks down onto his back again. He gives way, ceding to Souma. When he comes, he clenches his hand into Souma’s hair, his fingers digging into the scalp. He doesn’t know if he gasps his love, or if he just says Souma’s name. Both things are one and the same. 

He doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until he opens them again. Sees Souma lying down beside him. One of Souma’s hand reaches out, and caresses Shuusuke’s cheekbone with the backs of his fingers.

“Well,” Shuusuke says. His glasses have become a hindrance, so he takes them off and places them in the vague direction of the bedside table. “You’re as good at oral sex as I remember.” 

Souma starts guffawing so loud that they’re probably pissing off their neighbors. If they haven’t already. 

“If we still had resumes I’d put that on mine. At the very top.” 

Shuusuke finds himself pulled into a fierce hug. Everything about Souma is rigid and watchful, contrasting sharply with Shuusuke’s loose-limbed contentment. 

It’s always been very difficult for Shuusuke to relax when others are in need, or are at work. “You haven’t come yet. What are you doing?” 

“Waiting for you to catch your breath.” Souma sounds so smug that Shuusuke is tempted to shove him a little. But, in his current position, there’s not much he can do but dig his nails into Souma’s back. Which he does, with no small amount of force. 

“Ow! Hey!” Souma yelps, but he rocks his hips against Shuusuke. He also groans a little. That doesn’t escape notice. 

“Alright, _now_ I’m content.” Shuusuke lets his head flop down, and, before he knows it, he nuzzles against one of Souma’s arms.

“You’re a sadist.” 

Shuusuke contemplates pointing out that they’d had quite a few encounters in which Souma took his time. Taunted Shuusuke. Made him beg. 

“If I were a sadist I wouldn’t be worried about you waiting to get off.”

“Oh that? Pshhh.” Souma’s probably still a little grumpy, but he seems to be settling back into a baseline of delirious contentment. “It’s fine,” Souma says, messing with Shuusuke's bangs, kissing his forehead. “We have hours, still.” 

He makes that sound like an eternity. But Shuusuke suspects they could have an eternity together, and it would still pass too quickly. He prods and pokes until Souma lets him go. He sits up a little, placing his hands on his messiah’s abdomen.

“Roll over.” 

For a moment Souma blinks in confusion, and then he sighs in mock-consternation. “This again?” 

“You have a nice back.” Shuusuke will not apologize for thinking so. 

Breathing against Souma’s shoulders, now, he traces his hands over the gorgeous expanse of skin below. He can see a few crescent moon marks from when he’d scratched Souma. He kisses those first, until they disappear. Then he kisses the rest of Souma’s back. His mouth opens, his tongue traces scars new and old. There’s one that’s a new sickly white color, and Shuusuke doesn’t remember it at all.

“What happened here?” He asks.

Souma has to crane his neck, and for a second they both nearly giggle at the effort of it. 

“Oh, that. That’s from when I was literally stabbed in the back a month ago.”

That brings Shuusuke to a halt. He rests his cheek against the nape of Souma’s neck. Encircles one of his arms around Souma’s chest and pulls him in close. 

What would happen if Souma sustained a mortal injury one day? Would Shuusuke’s pulse skip a beat, in the moment Souma’s heart goes still? Or would Shuusuke not know, until someone higher-up tells him about it weeks, months, or years after the fact?

“Was it a very bad injury?” 

“Nope. Didn’t hit anything vital.” 

Shuusuke waits for a sense of relief or comfort, but there is none to be found. He sucks Souma’s ear in between his teeth. He licks it until it draws out ragged cries from his messiah. He memorizes the exact pitch and volume of those noises. He will revisit them every time he’s tempted to worry. 

“So, you’ve clearly recovered,” Souma says. He could probably grab one of Shuusuke’s hands and place it where he wants it. Instead he clenches his fingers into the cover. It’s already askew, parts of it draping down on the floor. 

Shuusuke’s traces his fingers over Souma’s hipbone. “Be direct. I know you’re capable of it.” 

“I need you to touch me.” When Souma says it, it’s nearly a whisper. Sometimes they mock-fight about, but his messiah has never been prideful about letting Shuusuke take the reins. If anything, he enjoys it with a wholehearted joy that inspires Shuusuke to do even better.

But Souma’s always had trouble admitting to needing anything for himself.

Therefore, when Shuusuke closes his fingers around Souma’s cock, he strokes him thoroughly. No teasing, no attempt at a slow-build. Souma responds in kind, letting out a beautifully loud yell. 

“Very good,” Shuusuke kisses his way along Souma’s neck, though there’s no particular rhythm to it. “You sound so good.” 

Souma’s hand twists around, cupping the back of Shuusuke’s head. His thumb is tracing circles against Shuusuke’s hair. 

“We should turn around.” His voice is hoarse. “We’re facing a mirror.” 

Shuusuke squints. Without his glasses, everything but Souma is a blur (of course, since today’s reunion, everything but Souma has been a blur even when he _could_ see.) 

“It’s probably a nice sight.” 

“I can only see _myself_. And your hand. And the top of your head, I guess.” 

“Exactly.” 

Souma moans in frustration, and in need. “Why do you always get like this?”

“Because I clearly still remember what you like,” Shuusuke moves his fingers deliberately. “And because I’m jealous you get to watch what I’m doing to you.” 

“Shuusuke…” Souma stops and starts some sort of retort or protestation. He stalls out on his messiah’s name, repeating it over and thrusting against his fingers. When he comes, his cry is almost like a sigh of relief. 

Locating a box of tissues is pretty easy, and cleaning up is even easier. Despite Souma’s clear contentment, his hands almost shake with the need to keep touching Shuusuke. He’s pulled back into a hug as soon as possible.

“ _Damn_.” Souma sounds so appreciative it burns away any hints of chagrin. He strokes Shuusuke’s hair. 

“Did you ever dream about anything like that?” They’re both so sweaty that Shuusuke envies how Souma is still wearing gloves. He’s clearly having an easier time holding on.

Shuusuke gets no response for several long moments. 

“Are you sleeping?” 

“Nah, it’s just that… Nowadays I rarely imagine having sex with you anymore. Don’t get me wrong I mean… Hah.” He pats Shuusuke on the shoulder. “Clearly I love it. But, mostly I keep having these weird dreams where we just do dumb domestic shit. Like, we have an apartment together, or I cook for you, or we go for walks together. That kind of thing.” 

Shuusuke tries to picture it. Souma infiltrating enemy terrain, never knowing if this might be the mission that kills him. Pining for a life of chores and small pleasures with Shuusuke. 

“I really hope we’re stationed together one day,” Souma says now. “I really hope-”

Kissing Souma becomes a necessity. It often is, but now Shuusuke wants to smash their mouths together until these fledgling hopes evaporate. He’s spent so much time as a captive to the past that he doesn’t want to become imprisoned by the future. The myriad of potential futures.

Maybe the two of them will have the best possible outcome. Maybe they will get to work in the same location, live together, function as spouses in all but name. But Shuusuke refuses to chase that shadow of a possibility. Souma is right here. His messiah is right here. And Shuusuke will kiss him, touch him, make love to him until the forget everything that came before. Until they forget everything that’s waiting for them. 

“How long do we have?” Sometimes Souma touches Shuusuke like he’s made of glass, like he’s the most incredible thing in the world. Sometimes it makes Shuusuke want to cover his eyes, even when he’s discarded his glasses. 

“Hours, still.” 

“That’s plenty.”


End file.
